Atlantis Remembered
by Musicman99
Summary: Caitlyn, a modern-day witch is transported back in time to the beginning of recorded wizarding history-the time of the mythical island-empire of Atlantis. All OC's
1. Chapter 1

_Year 148, Sixth Month, Day Seventeen (Approximately 4000 B.C.E.)_

_Mid-Aaris, Empire of Atlantis_

Pirius, head mage of the academy of Atlantis, defender of the seven ports, high chancellor of the arcane mysteries, and current sufferer of a blistering headache, swept into the council chambers of Mid-Aaris, black cloak billowing behind him. He held the blackwood staff in his right hand, and gazed down over the abyss, atop his perch high above the Atlantean representatives gathered from all parts of the empire. Today was a historic day, one that would be remembered for millenia to come, if history was kind.

He rapped three times with the butt of his staff against the cold, dark stone beneath his feet. The echo filled the chamber, and rapt silence followed.

"The chancellor," he said, in his most regal of tones, "recognizes the representation gathered from the sundry corners of the empire, and moves to bring before the quorum, thus gathered, the business of the council." He nodded to his advisors, seated above him, their seats recessed in the dark stone that formed the heart of Atlantis. "I further move, that the council hear the arguments for and against the vote to be decided, regarding the petition by the college of magic and knowledge, lodged on record the seventh day of the fifth month of the year One Hundred and Forty-Eight..."

Soon they would vote, and the fate of the world would be decided. A momentous day, indeed.

* * *

_August 9__th__, 1983._

_London, England_

For the first time in her life, Caitlyn walked into the ministry of magic.

Clutching her maplewood wand in her hand, she smiled at all the faces that surrounded her, passing her by in dark robes going every direction. She was one of them now, a magic user, an arcane power, a _witch_.

Her mother, brown curls bouncing around a deceptively youthful face, did not share her enthusiasm.

"Now, you have the required papers?" she asked anxiously, for the hundredth time that day. "They will be particular on that, the high court is very stuck on regulation-"

"I know, mom, can you just stay calm for one minute?" Caitlyn approached the visitors desk, her mother scurrying behind. "Honestly, they just want to get my testimony, it's not as if I were in trouble or anything..."

The High Court of the Wizengamot had summoned Caitlyn to share her testimony in the conviction of a few Vol—You-know-who supporters caught tresspassing in Hogwarts a few months ago. She still remembered the graduation party her Ravenclaw friends threw after they took their N.E.W.T's, and the chaos that ensued that night. Honestly! Kidnapping three seventh years, and expecting _Dumbledore_ of all people to cave into their petty demands? What were they thinking...

Well, it wasn't Caitlyn's job to figure out the undoubtedly long and complicated plots of those who supported He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She just had to give her testimony—such as it was—of what happened that night.

Not that she was the center of the action, but the courts sure liked to be thorough, especially with recent history hanging over them all...

It had been almost two years since that fateful night on Halloween, when You-know-who met his end. Caitlyn still woke up nights, shivering, dreaming that the dark lord was still at large, that he had come for her...

She shook her head. This was a happy time, now.

"Next," the clerk said with a bored expression. Caitlyn stepped forward with her wand, laying it on the scale.

* * *

Broderick Bode, Unspeakable, leaned up against the wall in the Time room, wishing that time would go faster.

The death room, that was a place; pure stone, with only the veil in the middle; it was quite picturesque, if you were into that kind of thing. And staffing the department of mysteries was a lifelong commitment, meaning that there really wasn't much in the way of entertainment around.

The time room, though, was unbearable. Hundreds of clocks. All the time turners were kept neatly on a shelf, and the few experiments they were able to run were kept sealed away, only taken out when the experts—Bode was not told their names, of course—came every six months to examine them.

There was, of course, the small glass dome with the chicken, endlessly moving forward and backward through time. And the crystal orb in the center, flawless on its stand, that you couldn't stare at very long without developing a blinding headache, for some reason...

That left a simple, blank, white room, sparkling with light, with little going on of note. Possibly the most boring area in the whole department. The room might have been interesting the first three years Bode had spent guarding it, but now?

Bode let out a long sigh through his nose, wishing he could have a pocketwatch, with him to tell the time. It was useless here, of course—the temporal magic at work would exert too much force on the watch, making it unreliable, and the endless clocks on the walls were no help, either—but still, it would be nice to know when his shift ended.

Or, you know, something exciting could happen. That would be nice...

His wish was granted with a crash, and a scream.

Amelia? Was that...that sounded like it came from the brain room...

Bode looked around, making sure nothing was out of place (it wasn't, of course; the room hadn't changed in nearly a decade, it seemed), then hurried out of the room.

* * *

"Department of Mysteries"

Caitlyn stepped out of the lift, and looked around. Her mother had seen her to the lift, but had not accompanied her further; Caitlyn had insisted that she go home and rest. It would be good for her, and having her come along wouldn't have helped anything.

Of course, Caitlyn hadn't counted on the downright _eeriness_ of the place, and started wishing someone else were here with her.

Courtroom seven, that was where they needed her, but where to go from here?

A long hallway stretched in front of her. Caitlyn stared down it, to the door at the end. She hesitated in the stillness. Was that where she needed to go?

_They sure make these courtroom places intimidating_, she thought, moving forward towards the door, down the long hallway. It seemed to stretch, the door not getting any nearer. Eventually, she reached the knob, and pulled.

Locked. Well...

Caitlyn pulled out her wand—now tagged—and said "_Alohomora_". The lock clicked.

Caitlyn pushed through the door, into a dark, circular room lit with blue torches. The door closed behind her, sending echoes against the dark stone.

The room began to spin.

Caitlyn felt a wave of nausea, as the torches blurred into a blue line. How was she to find the courtroom now?

She had to give credit to the designers, though; were she a criminal, she would be shaking in her boots right now.

Not that she ever wore boots...oh, Merlin...

The room was slowing to a stop, and Caitlyn struggled to catch her balance. She felt sick, and she stumbled to one of the doors, trying to catch her breath.

She heard a crash, and a scream.

Bolting upright, Caitlyn looked around nervously. _They don't...torture people here, do they?_ She shuddered at the thought.

She looked up at the door she was leaning on, to see if there was a number for the courtroom. There wasn't.

Well, she might as well try this door. It was as good as any.

She pushed open the door (unlocked, this time) and stepped into what was definitely _not_ a courtroom.

It was a long, rectangular room, with hundreds of clocks lining the walls. Shelves of time-turners stood to her left, and in the center of the room...

A crystal orb, perfectly clear, sat on a stand, seeming to—to _own_ the room it resided in.

It sounded odd, but completely accurate. This was the perfectly-clear-crystal-orb room. It simply was.

Caitlyn looked around guiltily, but saw no one. She heard a scuffling outside the corridor, and the occasional shout ("...need to hold her still, it's tightened it's grip..."), but this room seemed abandoned She started for the orb, a strange force pressing on her to hold it, to grasp it.

She _wanted_ that orb. She did not know why.

Time seemed to slow down, as the orb drew nearer, as Caitlyn reached out for it, as if in a dream. She felt an odd vibration through her feet. Something, in the back of her mind, started panicking, but she paid it no mind. It didn't matter, everything was going to be all right...

"What are you doing?"

This jolted Caitlyn out of her trance, and she looked up in shock, at a man dressed all in black standing at the door.

The man advanced. "Put that back!"

Caitlyn's mind was still foggy, as she looked down to see the crystal orb in her hands. _In her hands_. The weight of it registered in her mind, and she realized her hands were slick with sweat.

She backed away, and the motion slid the heavy orb from her hands...

She saw the orb fall as if in slow motion, down to the white marbled floor. She cried out in fright, as another vibration trilled through her legs.

The crystal orb hit the floor.

A flash of diamond white, and then black.


	2. Chapter 2

_Year 148, Sixth Month, Day Twenty-five (Approximately 4000 B.C.E.)_

_Near the town of Tel-Oron, Empire of Atlantis_

Caitlyn opened her eyes to blinding light, then shut them again. She found that she was on her back. She groaned, stretching her muscles. Every part of her body felt sore.

She just wanted to lay there, wherever she was...the ministry of magic? She remembered...

It all came back to her in a flash.

She opened her eyes, to find the sun directly overhead. She craned her neck, looking around. Grass. She was laying on grass. Wild, long, unkempt, damp grass.

She pushed against the ground, struggling to sit up. The scene presented itself to her eyes: late morning, with the sun presiding over rolling hills, no sign of anyone in any direction. A small copse of trees lay...oh, ten quidditch field lengths away, to her left. Maybe eleven.

What had _happened_?

She wasn't in the ministry, that was obvious. But where...

Getting to her feet, she took her wand from her pocket, looking around. Somewhere in the wild, far from human civilization. For all she knew, she could be anywhere on the globe.

Well, she passed her Apparition test only a few months ago. Time to put it to good use.

(_Destination, Determination, Deliberation_, she thought). Caitlyn turned on the spot, thinking of the road in front of the Ministry of Magic entrance.

She was pulled into the void, disapparating.

With a pop, she fell to the ground. She looked around, at green hills, and a distant river flowing across the horizon. _Why didn't it work?_ She should be in London right now.

Caitlyn sat down on the ground, thinking. She was just in a white room, in the ministry of magic...

Not a courtroom, she must have taken a wrong turn...

...into a room full of clocks...

...in what _had_ to be the Department of Mysteries...

...No! It can't be...she can't have, no! She couldn't have _traveled through time_...

...but if she had apparated correctly (no splinching, unless she lost a few hairs or something)...

Caitlyn stood back up, pushing away the possibility. She just had to assume that she had messed up

the apparition, somehow.

Somehow.

Not trusting herself to apparate again, Caitlyn turned around, looking for anything familiar, anything inviting...

She saw a small village of huts down at the base of the hill she was on, edging up against the river. Smoke poured out from the tops of them, and a hum of activity centered on the town.

(_A town that definitely isn't modern_, said a voice in her head, but she pushed that thought away too).

Caitlyn didn't know if they were muggles or not, but she didn't have much of a choice, did she?

She made her way down the hill, wending her way to the outskirts of the village. The huts looked to be simple constructions of wood, with thatched roofs, probably gathered from the grasslands surrounding...well, everything around here. The conglomeration of human voices, speaking a strange, twangy language, filled the spaces between the huts. The din of metal on stone rang across the squares, signaling, Caitlyn thought, a thriving industry.

In any case, Caitlyn definitely did not speak the language. She pulled her wand from her pocket, and whispered "_Interperas_", the translation charm, pointing her maplewood wand at her head.

Immediately, she felt a coolness descend over the top of her head, and the general commotion became more intelligible to her.

Caitlyn shuffled between two huts, coming out in what she had to assume was the market. Fortunately, her presence was unremarked by most, though she was pressed on all sides by vendors hawking their wares.

"...from the furthest reaches of the empire, the best copper-work in town..."

"...flint from these very hills, yes madame, fashioned by yours truly..."

"...Pearls, gems, all available from the distant west, payment in livestock accepted..."

"...that swine back home, boy! If your father knew..."

She attempted conversation, ("Excuse me, but do you know...") trying to ask where she was, asking for any indication of what strange world she had entered, but the market cared only for buying, selling, and trading. She could make no headway with anyone, as everybody immediately lost interest the moment she changed the subject from whatever they were selling.

At one point a plump woman, waving a sausage in her face, yelled "You're in Tel-Oron, you dim wench!" She saw Caitlyn's look of confusion. "The edge of the empire? What, you think this is the islands?" as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

After that, Caitlyn just tried to get away from the market. It was so open, so exposed, with everyone surrounding her, and no familiar faces to save her...

No. She would take charge of this situation. She was a _witch_, by Merlin, and she would act like one.

Like her mother.

She raised her wand, pointing it at the sky, and said "_Incendius Orchideo!_"

Flaming fountains of sparks leapt from her wand, soaring high into the sky, with accompanying sounds; this spell in particular reminded her of muggle "fireworks" that they set off over new years, but Caitlyn figured this was more impressive, as the colors (red, blue, and green, right now) were constantly changing. She had aced her charms O.W.L using that spell.

The gathered market people were just as impressed as Flitwick had been, though this emotion was laced with fear as well: silence had descended over the crowd.

They people backed away from her, forming a circle. _Well, here goes nothing_, thought Caitlyn, projecting confidence.

"I must speak with your leader, or mayor, or whomever runs this town," she announced. "As soon as possible. I, uh, have many matters of which I wish to inquire of him." It had sounded more impressive in her head than when she said it out loud.

It apparently had the desired effect, however, when the crowd parted showing a lone man, looking as regal as one can when covered in simple homespun cloth.

"I am the Cheiftain-elect, here," he said simply. He was very tall, and as he advanced, Caitlyn noted a slight limp in his stride. "You show forth your magic overtly," he continued, apparently not overawed by her performance. "Some...might not deem that wise."

The saying, _If you got it, flaunt it_, came to Caitlyn's mind, though she resisted the temptation to say it. Instead, she said, "Wisdom is...um, a blessing to some, and a curse to others."

"Indeed. Perhaps we should talk somewhere more private?"

Caitlyn nodded in what she hoped was an elegant manner, then, cloak swishing appropriately, she followed him through the crowd towards what she assumed was his home. She realized she was thirsty; how long had it been since she had any water?

The man, whom, Caitlyn did not fail to realize, had not yet introduced herself, led her to a simple hut on the edge of the market-place. He opened the door for her, and gestured inside.

Caitlyn stepped into darkness.

_Seriously? How could people live in a place like this?_ she thought, blinking to adjust to the light (or the lack thereof). She saw a small pottery lamp burning on the table, throwing far too little light across the room. No windows?

The man pulled up a stool, and gestured for Caitlyn to sit. She complied, and watched him cross to the other side of the rough hewn table, sitting across from her.

"Your name?" he asked.

"Caitlyn," she said automatically. "Caitlyn Morgan."

The man nodded, then said, "My name is Tyllas Ungiel, third chieftain-elect of the settlement of Tel-Oron, vassal state to the empire of Atlantis, may the chancellor and his emperor live forever...or at least live long enough to repeal our taxes," he rattle off with a smile.

Caitlyn did not know what to say to that. She looked down at the table, then asked, "Chieftain-elect?"

Tyllas nodded. "The empire restricts our sovereignty, so we cannot have official leaders, _per se_, but I act in all things like my fathers did before the coming of the empire. I take it you are not, as they say, from around here?" he asked.

Caitlyn shook her head. "No. I, uh, found myself on your shores some time ago, with, uh, no knowledge of how I got there."

"Interesting," said Tyllas. "For a person in your, well, profession, does this happen often?"

"Not really," she said.

Her eyes had finally adjusted somewhat to darkness. She saw a few other stools and a fur bedroll in the room, which seemed to be the entirety of the hut. A few piles of clothing was stacked neatly in the corner.

"So...what year is it?" Caitlyn asked as...as _nonchalantly_ as she could muster.

"You've _really_ traveled far from home," Tyllas observed. He eyed her, and then said, "The empire would say it is year 148, marked from the time of the accession of the first emperor upon the island of Atlantis. The villagers, the older ones perhaps, might remember a different year: 566, since the re-birth of the god Abyssel who, upon his breaking forth from the womb, brought our people to these shores."

Caitlyn caught the word _Atlantis_ and started. How long ago was that? Five thousand years? Six thousand?

She was a _long_ way from home.

"May I see your instrument of magic?" said Tyllas.

Caitlyn clutched her wand, holding it close to her chest.

"Oh, I won't break it," said Tyllas, smiling. "I am not that superstitious. Or that foolish." He reached out his hand, and Caitlyn reluctantly handed her wand over.

"Interesting. I know, of course, of the wizarding staves held by the few in Mid-Aaris," he said."The capital of the Empire," he clarified, then continued, "And, I have also heard of the many other instruments of magical power spread throughout the world." He turned the wand over, examining the smooth wood. "Orbs, talismans, golden statues, enchanted blades. Fearsome things." He handed it back. "But a simple stick of wood, to conjure fire? _That_ I have never heard of."

Caitlyn took her wand, stowing it in her robes, as her darkest suspicions were confirmed. She would never see her home again. She was trapped here, as far from her own time as she could possibly be.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"We have a problem, you see," said Tyllas, jolting Caitlyn back to the present. The past-present, a part of her thought wryly.

"The agents of the Empire issued an edict," he said, "making magic used by anyone other than official agents of the empire _illegal_. And now, we have you," he gestured to her shortly, "a holder of an unusual magical artifact, demonstrating your prowess in front of all Tel-Oron."

Caitlyn leaned forward. "Why is magic...illegal? And what would happen to me if I were caught?"

"Ah. Precisely the heart of the matter," said Tyllas. "First, for being caught, I will have to inform you that if I were not to report your use of unknown magic, there are literally dozens of citizens of the empire residing just outside my hut that would gladly do so in my place." He paused, and then continued, "Though, understand this: being caught and taken to the capital may not, in fact, be such a bad thing."

"You see, there are laws, and there are reasons for laws, which most people do not pry into nearly enough. In the case of laws against murder, the empire is simply trying to weed out aggression and violent behavior in the populace, and therefore will punish murder severely. In the case of this edict against magic, however," he gestured to her wand, "the situation is a bit more simple, and yet more complicated."

"You see, for a multitude of reasons, the empire has been trying for the past few decades to gather all users of magic from across the globe in one place: the college of Magic and Arcane Mystery, in Mid-Aaris. This has been accomplished using many ways and means, including offering free citizenship rights to foreign magicians should they come and study here. They have also used other, more violent, means."

Caitlyn sat there, processing what the chieftain was telling her. "So, what would happen to me if I were to go to Mid-Aaris?"

"Undoubtedly you would be treated with the utmost respect, kept well nourished, and you would move among the highest circles of society, on one condition: you must not leave. Thus, you would be a prisoner, though many free citizens of the empire would envy your place above them, nonetheless."

Tyllas leaned forward. "So, then, you have a choice. You can see that I am no friend to the empire, though I do not oppose it openly. If you decide to escape, I will endeavor to help you, in any way that does not endanger my position, and thereby the delicate political balance I have fought to maintain between this town and the rest of the empire."

He leaned back, looking her over. "Or, you could turn yourself in, allow yourself to be taken to the center of the empire and into the lap of luxury: living a tame, peaceful, and possibly very meaningful existence at the center of magic in our world. Your choice."

Caitlyn leaned back in her chair, considering her options.

She sat there in silence a long time.

* * *

_Year 148, Sixth month, Day Twenty-seven_

Gwey flicked her hair back over her shoulder, wishing she was somewhere else right now.

The cart jostled her, riding over the dirt road towards Tel-Oron. The message had come in just a few days ago, that another magician had been discovered. And Gwey was, naturally, tasked with bringing her in.

She leaned back in the seat, cursing the heat, the humidity, the backwater depravity that she was travelling through. Six years, without a promotion. She was a full magician! Her record was spotless!

Well...mostly spotless.

She pushed away the thought, fuming that such a simple, _ridiculous_ mistake could hold her back. Demoted to an errand girl. Seriously.

She parted the drapes, looking out the window at the endless fields of wheat, waving in the wind. The view _was_ pretty, she granted. Why did it have to be so hot at the same time?

Gwey brushed her pocket, where her lucky coin was kept. The artifact that had brought her to Atlantis, the one thing they couldn't take from her. It made her feel safe, knowing what she could do with it.

She hadn't used it in nearly six years. She wasn't supposed to, under normal circumstances. The empire kept a tight grip on it's magicians, wizards, sorcerers...whatever you called them. Her power in particular was extremely dangerous, and therefore highly regulated.

_You so much as rub that coin between your fingers and you'll be clapped in irons faster than last Freya's-day! _she remembered the professor saying, the first day she arrived in Mid-Aaris. The guards brandishing clubs larger than her head helped the intimidation factor.

She had just demonstrated her abilities, and the council had considered her extremely dangerous. Was it bad that this still gave her a strange satisfaction?

The horses slowed to a stop, and Gwey looked out the window, wiping the sweat from her brow. Gods, she was a _professional!_ She shouldn't be sweating!

_This had better be worth it_, she thought darkly, as the porters opened her door, letting the sun into the carriage.

* * *

It all passed as a blur, the two days she had before her escort came. Sleep, eat, work (Tyllas had Caitlyn earn her keep, even if it was for two days), then eat and sleep and wake up and eat again. Then keep the sheep again and eat and worry and nap and eat and sleep and _was it time to go already?_

The carriage trundled to a stop before Tyllas's home, looking very out of place. It looked like something out of the eighteenth century, with plush and comfort and regality: a stark contrast to the town it invaded.

Caitlyn turned back toward Tyllas, who was as silent as ever. After that night, she hadn't gotten more than six consecutive words out of him. She wondered what he had been through at the hands of the empire. Whatever it was, he wouldn't talk about it.

Tyllas gestured to her in farewell, using that strange hand motion she had learned from the townsfolk. She mimicked the movement: tracing her right finger from her left palm, in a straight line to her heart.

Then she turned back towards the carriage. Towards her captivity.

_Better than being free and starving_, she thought, which is what trying to escape amounted to. Still, she wasn't sure she had made the right decision.

Then the carriage door opened and she wondered even more.

A woman, dressed in black and red robes, stepped down from the carriage. The woman swept her eyes around, clearly bored, then saw Caitlyn.

She seemed to exude a darkness, a shadowy presence. She strode with purpose, with confidence. It was very intimidating.

The woman came up to her, standing a head taller than her. She looked down at her, then said, "Name?"

"C-caitlyn Morgan," she stuttered.

"Well. Pleasure to meet you, Cuhcaitlyn Morgan," the woman said with the smile. "I hope you will enjoy being my prisoner."

Caitlyn...didn't know how to respond to that.

"Oh, come on. It was a joke!" The woman smiled, then stepped back. "I'm Gweynel, by the way. Gweynel Na'Birion, though you could call me Gwey." She offered her hand.

Caitlyn shook it, looking down. Some customs never changed, apparently. Even after six thousand years.

"Ye gods, you're a serious one," said Gwey. "Don't you ever smile?"

* * *

The carriage wasn't as comfortable after the first five hours of riding.

"So, why didn't they just send a ship? Tel-Oron is a port town, right?"

Gwey turned from her stare out the window, then said, "Too much expense. Why send a whole crew out here, when they can just send me?"

"So...you're a witch, then?"

"A what?"

"You, uh, use magic?"

"A little." Gwey looked around, and Caitlyn thought she could see a little mischief in her eyes. "Do you want to see?"

"Uh..."

"Well?" Gwey said expectantly. "I don't usually get to use my magic. It's a bit...dangerous, or so they say. But, they would never know."

"Sure," said Caitlyn.

"Only, you really have to promise not to tell anyone. I could get locked away for this."

"Then why risk it?" said Caitlyn. "Why trust your...um, freedom, to me?"

"Freedom. Right," said Gwey bitterly. "Free to follow every little thing they say, jump when they say jump. Not free to disobey."

The darkness that Caitlyn had seen in Gwey, when she had seen her at first, returned. Then Gwey smiled, and the darkness dispersed. "It's not all bad; you get all the books you can read, and meet very...interesting people." She nodded slowly, as the carriage was jostled again. "Mostly you're on assignment, as an agent of the empire. You have magic, and the empire will use it. Simple."

Caitlyn shifted nervously. What had she gotten herself into?

"So?" Gwey asked.

Caitlyn remembered Gwey's original question. "Sure. What can you do?"

Gwey pulled out something from her pocket. She held it up, a glint in the light. It looked like a golden coin, fat and probably pretty heavy.

She tossed it to Caitlyn, who caught it without thinking.

Immediately, she had the most unusual sensation, as if she were floating in water, without a care in the world. She wanted nothing more than to sit there, contented, blissful, happy...

A voice came into her head. _Hand me back the coin_. It was Gwey's voice, oddly enough. How did that happen?

Caitlyn smiled, and handed back the coin.

The dreamy sensation stopped, snapping Caitlyn back to reality. It felt like being doused with a bucket of cold water.

She saw Gwey pocket the coin. "You know what I can do, now? Total control. So long as you are touching that coin...and I can make you want that, more than anything in the world..."

_Like the Imperius curse_, Caitlyn thought immediately. Then—

"So, why don't you escape, if you have that power? Wouldn't it be easy?"

Gwey laughed. "Don't think I haven't thought of that. No, I never really wanted to leave. Where would I go?" she asked. "Plus, they watch my every move; they know what I can do, and I can only control one person at a time."

She shook her head, "That wouldn't stop me, if I really wanted to escape. But I don't. I feel like I should want to, somehow. Like I need to push the boundaries, get out there and be my own person. But, whenever I feel like that, I ask, why?" She pushed a wayward curl of black hair back into place. "I like where I am."

Caitlyn nodded, looking away.

Silence pressed itself over the carriage. Then—

"Can I see your magic?" Gwey asked.

Caitlyn looked down at her pocket, then drew out her wand. She thought for a minute, then waved her wand, saying "_Wingardium Leviosa," _pointing at one of the cushions. It rose in the air.

Gwey nodded in approval. "Levitation. Nice!"

Caitlyn ended the spell. "That's not all it can do," she said.

She pointed her wand at Gwey, and said "_Stupefy."_

A beam of red light hit Gwey, and she crumpled in unconsciousness.

Caitlyn didn't know what possessed her to do it, so it was only a second before she said "_Ennervate,_" waking Gwey up again. She looked startled, to say the least.

"Wuh-what just happened?"

Caitlyn smiled. "I just, uh, stunned you. It knocks people unconscious, so I reversed the spell to wake you up again."

Gwey nodded, "Nice." Impressive, that she could take that in stride. "Still...don't do that again."

"Right."

* * *

_Mid-Aaris_

Pirius sat in his office, waiting for the assembly to reconvene. It had taken a lot longer to reach a consensus than he had anticipated. The last week and a half had weighed on his mind, pressing in and dominating his thoughts. He could hardly find any peace and quiet, without hearing the endless, echoing debates...

A knock at the door.

"Come in."

The door opened, and Pirius heard robes slide across the floor. He hardly had the heart to turn around and greet his guest.

"Lord Chancellor."

Ah. The majority leader of the opposition. Great.

Pirius rose from his seat, and turned to shake the hand of Avarlin, chief opponent in the debates that had dragged on for the past ten days. Avarlin smiled, then sat himself down in the only other chair in Pirius's office.

"Well, I will get to the point. You know my views,"

Pirius nodded. "Yes," he said blandly, closing his eyes, and rubbing them with his fingers.

"I am willing to vote in favor of your proposal, in favor of this...ritual," he said, "if you offer one thing in return."

Pirius opened his eyes. "Well?"

"Your retirement. Should the ritual succeed, I would need your promise to submit your resignation from the post of Chancellor the next day. If not so, then there is not deal."

Pirius let out a long sigh. _Well, was there any other way?_

He would consider his career complete, should he be able to complete this final task, testing the very boundaries of magic.

"Very well," Pirius said. "We have an agreement."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Caitlyn tossed and turned under the scratchy covers, struggling in her sleep

_She was in a white room, with a bright light, but couldn't open her eyes._

"_Hold her, Bode! Don't let her slip away! If she disappears again, it's your job on the line!"_

"_Get Rookwood and Brown in here, then! I can't keep the charm steady, the magic keeps shifting here. All those damn clocks..."_

_Cailyn tried to cry out, but her mouth was silenced. She was falling, falling, through the floor, away from the clocks that ticked endlessly. The ticking dropped away, began to fade, as the voices grew more frantic._

"_She's slipping away! Hold her!"_

"_I can't..."_

_A jerking sensation, and then darkness..._

Caitlyn awoke with a start.

Light filtered in the room. Not bright, like her dream, but a small, deep, light that promised dawn in a few hours. Those few hours, when she'll arrive at the city.

In her dream...

_Or was it a dream?_

Caitlyn stared up at the thatched ceiling of the inn, listening to the snores of the other occupants. It was that room, again. She tried to remember. The white room, with the clocks.

And they were trying to bring her back.

Caitlyn turned under the covers, seeking a more comfortable position. Lethargy claimed her, and she sunk back into unconsciousness.

* * *

There was a pile of robes sitting at the foot of Caitlyn's bed in the morning.

They were the same as the robes Gwey wore, and Caitlyn was happy for the change. They were just her size too, and seemed to have the property to flare out dramatically as she walked. She stashed her wand in an inside pocket (there was a slot sewed inside that seemed made just for that purpose), and went downstairs for breakfast.

Gwey was already waiting for her at the bar, a mug of ale at her right hand. She waved to Caitlyn as she came down.

"The robes fit all right?" Gwey asked, and Caitlyn nodded. "Good. They wanted you in uniform when you arrived."

Gwey stood up from the bar. She walked over, pointing to a few stripes on the armband. "Red means _untested_; they don't know you yet, and you could be dangerous. When they've tested you, you get yellow, and then you get more bands as you rise through the ranks." Caitlyn notices Gwey had two yellow bands, one thicker than the other. A small red band ran between them; Caitlyn figured that meant they still considered Gwey dangerous.

Gwey pulled Caitlyn back to the bar, where she ordered her a breakfast and a mug of ale. A plate of eggs and some kind of meat appeared, alongside the aforementioned pint.

Caitlyn decided not to touch the ale. She didn't have a problem with alcohol, but didn't want to risk it. She heard somewhere that historically, drinks were brewed a lot stronger. Also, this was probably not the best time to become inebriated.

The eggs and meat were good, or at least well seasoned. Soon enough, her plate was empty.

"Done?" asked Gwey. "Good, let's go."

* * *

The city of Mid-Aaris was accessed via ferry, after a mere hour or so of riding in the carriage. Caitlyn saw the island of Atlantis for the first time: a great mountain rising out of the sea, it's peaks brushing the clouds. And beneath, she caught sight of great towers, buildings that rose from the rocks of the mountain itself, it seemed. She couldn't judge the distance, but they looked massive nonetheless.

The sun shone down over the sea, as the waves lapped lazily on the shore. The ferrymen showed great deference to Gwey and Caitlyn, obviously recognizing them by their dress. Gwey handed them a few scrolls, which were swiftly deposited in a wooden strongbox, and they were off. They were only passengers traveling across the water.

The movement of the water was strangely relaxing. Caitlyn leaned against the railing, looking out across the sea. If this was the kind of vista she could see every day, then imprisonment seemed worth it.

Gwey sat back from the railing, looking a bit sick.

"How c-can you stand this?" she stammered out, finally.

"How couldn't I? It's the most beautiful view I've ever seen in my life."

Gwey harrumphed. "Maybe from the shore, it is. I guess you came from a country that sails a lot?"

Caitlyn paused. The matter of her past hadn't yet come up. "Um, not really. This is my first time on the sea."

Gwey groaned. "Some people have all the luck."

Caitlyn shrugged, enjoying the warm rays of the sun on her face. She turned back. "I feel bad! You can't enjoy this," she said, then, seeing Gwey's expression, added, "Are you going to be sick?"

Gwey shook her head, then said slowly, "No. I just..need to stay...in one place. No...sudden movements."

Caitlyn turned back to the gorgeous view, silently watching the island of Atlantis approach.

She knew the island would not last through the ages; the one thing that made Atlantis famous was it's destruction. Still, Caitlyn didn't think it was likely to happen in this lifetime, the one she blundered into a week ago, and she was going to make the most of it.

She marveled that it had already been a week. She could get used to this place. Maybe.

* * *

Harain slipped quietly through the dark corridors under the arena, spellsword in hand.

His dark cloak concealed his deadly purpose. He was the advance guard, the one man entrusted with the darkest of missions, sent into the heart of traitorous Atlantis itself.

His thoughts were as dark as the corridor he walked through. Darkness. Death. These were things he brooded on, as he strolled quietly, unnoticed.

The island was far different than he had expected, decadent and full of light. _False light,_ he reminded himself. A hollow mountain, ready to cave in under it's own weight.

But still very formidable. Had he not the blessing of the ancestors, he would despair of success against so great a foe.

His friends—if he could call them such—called him a man of silence, for such he was. He simply _did_, without hesitation or discussion. That made them respect him, but it was a respect tinged with fear.

His master, High Archon of the Ages, told him that he, Harain, was the most dangerous man in all the southern wastes. He was a poisoned dagger, driven inexorably towards the throat of his enemies.

It didn't matter who it was that commanded him. What cared the dagger for the hand that bore it?

Harain drew up short, feeling a cold presence near. _Yes,_ he thought.

He descended down a short flight of stairs, deep below the arena, following the cold.

If they had..._those_ creatures here, why, it would be nothing short of the hand of God that had caused this to occur...

It would be perfect. Devoured by the very creatures that they had spawned, deep within the earth.

Harain came into a cavern, bound at the mouth by a high, forbidding iron gate. One that would not open, or so they say. Nothing could bar the way for Harain. He hefted his spellsword, channeling a tiny flame that flickered along it's length. _By the will of the Ancestor, these gates will fall_.

And then Harain would have his revenge. He smiled, but that was not a happy thought.

* * *

Pirius stormed out of his office, chief administrator of the arena in tow.

"Explain to me," he said, not bothering to see if the incompetent fool was following, "how _three guards_ could go missing in the space of an hour, and I am not notified!"

The administrator, whose name Pirius thought could be Bennin, sputtered to answer.

Pirius did not slow his stride. "Well?" he asked.

"It-it was not worth your n-notice, my lord Chancellor."

Pirius rounded on the thin, balding man. "Not worth my notice? _How?_"

He let the word hang in the air.

"I-in case you didn't k-know my lord, the a-a-arena is _my..._" The balding man seemed to wilt under Pirius's stare, not managing to finish his counterpoint.

"You thought you were the one in charge."

Bennin nodded.

"Well." Pirius's voice was dangerously low. "Since you are _convinced_ that there is nothing at all the matter with security at the arena—"

"—t-the guards are j-just missing, is all—"

"—then, we'll test that. Shall we?"

Bennin looked around, then asked, "What d-do you mean?"

"The magician from Tel-oron arrives today, yes?"

Bennin nodded. "I don't know how that is-"

"We'll test her in the arena immediately then. Have her sent from the docks directly. And," he stressed this word, "I will be there to personally observe her testing. And any fault, any security breach," he paused to emphasise the point, "and you'll hit your retirement faster than you can say 'sorry'! Understood?"

Bennin rubbed the sweat from his forehead, then nodded nervously.

* * *

Harain sliced through the web of enchantments around the door, causing his sword to burn in his hands. Flames danced, burning through the iron and magic, causing the metal to groan and twist in strange ways. The runes inscribed in the surface danced about erratically, seeming to fear for their lives. Harain found it oddly disturbing.

Finally, with a final groan, the web of enchantments broke away, and the heavy lock set in the door clicked.

Harain pushed open the door, flaring his sword. The chill crept deep into his bones, despite the roaring flames surrounding his person.

He saw, by the light of his magic, hundreds of hooded figures, shrouded in mist.

Harain cursed, feeling the warmth being sucked from him. These unholy creatures, shadows slinking on the edges of the light, they were the unholy spectres that all humanity dreaded. The fear that walks alone, in the darkness. The fear that struck without warning.

Dementors.


End file.
